


A Court of Death and Darkness

by ThePunkTheory



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Gen, Unofficial Sequel, acowar-sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-01 06:32:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17862146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePunkTheory/pseuds/ThePunkTheory
Summary: On a small island off the western coast of Hybern, a dark keep loomed. Within the keep a princess paced, trying to come to terms with her new title. For she was no longer a princess. Nemain was now Queen of Hybern. Coming to terms and plotting revenge…





	1. Prologue 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys - this is my first ever fanfic. I'll soon post the first chapters and I'd love to get some feedback. Let me know how to improve (I really have no idea what I'm doing)! Hope you enjoy this little sequel to Sarah J. Maas' ACOTAR series!
> 
> (The prologue consists of a few rather short chapters, the rest will be longer!)

The King of Hybern was a cruel man. Nobody knew that better than his wife. For her, he reserved a special kind of hatred, for his radiant and beautiful wife reminded him of everything that lay just beyond his reach. Her eyes that sparkled like emeralds, her hair like liquid gold and her smile as radiant as the sun told him of riches and wealth that was to be found in the rest of Prythian and on the continent. Places filled with enemies. Hybern had never been a blessed part of this world but ever since the last war when even the human slaves were taken from them, the island has become more desolate and gloomy than ever before. So, with every passing second, the King of Hybern pondered the fates of all those around him who make his life miserable – and of his wife who was a walking reminder of all the things he and his people were denied.


	2. Prologue 2

No matter how much the King of Hybern hated his wife a love beyond compare took root in his heart the moment she announced her pregnancy. 

However, love was not the only thing that grew within him. Fear for his unborn child, fear from those enemies who surrounded him plagued his resting and waking hours. So, the cruel King hatched a plan. He kept the pregnancy a secret and brought his wife to a small keep, situated on a tiny island off the western coast of Hybern. Only his most trusted servants were allowed in and out. They knew what he was capable of, had witnessed or heard about the atrocities the King had committed in the last war. Therefore, nobody dared to breathe a word as the Queen's belly grew. 

The King was not easily satisfied and had no faith in the walls of the keep alone to protect his unborn babe. He was a skilled magic wielder, so he consulted his most ancient books for spells and wards to fortify the keep. Soon the island was encompassed by mighty magic that only allowed few to come and go. His wife was not one of them. For her, this supposed sanctuary was nothing but a pretty prison.


	3. Prologue 3

Hybern lay in silence during the small hours of the morning. The sentries held their vigil, while the rest of the people still slept.

In the small keep, however, everybody was in uproar. The mighty and cruel King had spent the better part of the night pacing through the bedroom while his wife was giving birth to his child. The delicate Queen struggled and had already lost a lot of blood before the dark-haired babe finally took her first breath in this world. Her scream was the last thing the Queen heard before she tumbled into eternal darkness.

The King didn’t shed a tear for the wife he had never loved as he cradled the little bundle in his arms. She looked just like him: hair as dark as the night and eyes that sparkled. The baby – Nemain – just stared up at the King, stared in this hard face without blinking. The King stared back.


	4. Prologue 4

Many years had passed since the night the Queen left and the princess entered this world. The raven-haired princess had grown up to be a stunning beauty. The paleness of her skin was a stark contrast to the darkness that always surrounded her. For Nemain was still confined to the keep on the island. Not even the rest of Hybern was aware of her existence while the princess learned and trained within the wards that kept her contained. 

The conversation she was having tonight was a familiar one. The King of Hybern sat in her small roomed and looked up at his daughter with a grim expression. Nemain wanted out. Out of the keep, off the island but he would have none of it. 

Here, she was safe and protected. Soon, so very soon she wouldn’t need that protection anymore. War was upon them and he intended to win.

 

“Let me fight. Why did you train me for centuries when I’m not allowed to make a stand once it matters?” Nemain bellowed. 

“I trained you well, but you have never been to a battlefield, have never been outside of this keep. There is no use for you, only danger.”

“If you are as sure about victory as you claim to be, how could there be any danger?”

“I’m not taking any chances, not when you are concerned. You just have to wait a little longer and the world will be yours for the taking. Just a few more weeks and I’ll lay it at your feet.”

 

Nemain knew better than to say another thing. Every discussion they ever had during the last 500 years had ended the same way. Her father got what he wanted, and she was left to rot in this keep. He meant well, but to Nemain it was suffocation. Even thinking about staying here a minute longer conjured a tight feeling in her chest and breathing became hard. So she just turned away and stalked towards the small window, staring out towards Hybern and what lay beyond its shores.  
Without a word of goodbye the King left and began to ready for battle.


	5. Prologue 5

Panting hard, Nemain fell to her knees. 

But it wasn’t the swordplay that brought her down. She’d beaten her trainer easily before and was just about to make the final blow when she felt it. A tremor ran through her and sucked the last bit of air from her lungs. Nemain clawed at the neckline of her sweat-soaked shirt, trying to block out what she knew in her heart to be true. Something terrible had happened and her father was dead. Running her trembling hands over her face, again and again, Nemain tried to get off the floor. 

As fast as her wobbly knees would allow it, she made it to her room. She fell onto her bed with a thud and waited, waited for the message that would confirm what she knew to be true in her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more rather short prologue chapter after this, then the real fun begins ;-)


	6. Prologue 6

It took three days before the messenger finally arrived. Three days of her silent vigil, battling the hope blooming inside her with every minute that passed, although she knew it was in vain. The messenger stormed into the small hall of the keep and fell to his knees. “The King of Hybern is dead. Felled by the Archeron sisters and the Night Court. Long live Queen Nemain”.

For several moments Nemain just blinked while the words sunk in. Her father was truly dead, making her the sovereign of this godforsaken island. But as she pondered the messenger’s words, something new began to grow within her. The pain and sadness over her father’s defeat were pushed down and drowned out by hatred. Hatred for the whole world and for the Night Court in particular. The darkness spread throughout her body and she let the feeling rage through her veins, savoring it. Nemain would avenge her father and claim what he had dreamed of. When she was done with them, the whole world would bow to Hybern.

However, to do that she’d first need to get off that small island, for even in death her father’s wards and spells held true. Already a plan was forming in Nemain’s head. The King of Hybern hadn’t been born with his knowledge of magic. He had acquired it over centuries, the information now waiting for her to be discovered in his vast library that took up two entire levels of Hybern’s castle. She knew that’s where she’d find the answer. Why else had her father been so keen on keeping those books out of her reach?

Nemain ordered the servants to carry the first stack of books over to the keep the same evening she had received the message of her father’s defeat. 

Not wanting to waste a heartbeat when those murderers were still out there and thriving, she started reading. Even if it would take a thousand years, she’d get off this damn island and tear the Night Court to shreds. So, this Queen of Darkness began learning about magic…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, the real fun can begin ;-)


	7. Macha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super short Prologue chapters, but now the real fun begins!

The laughter and music and babbling of lovers outside her window burned in her ears. Macha hated the happiness that seeped into her room, it made her sick. She crawled over the soft blankets of her bed and slammed the window shut, hard enough to rattle the glass. As the sound reverberated through the room, Macha let herself fall back onto the bed and closed her eyes. She could hear the steps trudging up the stairs towards her room and took a deep breath. The door opened as Macha steeled herself for another frosty encounter. 

“What was that sound.” Demanded a cold voice. “None of your business”, was Macha’s reply as she stared down the woman looming in the doorway. “If you break something, you bear the consequences.” With that Nesta turned on her heel and pulled the door shut behind her. Even minutes after she had left, Macha still stared at the closed door, at the spot where her mother had stood. It was because of her that the young woman couldn’t stand the warmth in the eyes of the people on the street. For she had never known that kind of feeling, had never known what it feels like to be loved or even cared about. 

When she was younger, that absence of warmth had gnawed at her. She hadn’t understood why her own mother didn’t seem to love her. She still hadn’t been able to figure it out. But after years of trying hard to impress Nesta, of trying to make her proud, Macha had given up on her mother, just like her mother had given up on her. Macha let that empty space in her heart, that aching place in her chest be filled by loathing. She kindled and fed that fire inside her every day until it had burned bright as the sun. Macha was willing to be consumed by that flame of hatred inside her.

⸙

Macha was pushing her food around the plate while she was lost deep in thought about her father. Cassian could only be described as a nice and good-looking guy. His wicked grin, the mischief dancing in his eyes and of course his body steeled by hundreds of years of training made heads turn. She had witnessed it first hand whenever they were out together. So why did Cassian pick Nesta? Even after contemplating the question over and over Macha couldn’t come up with any logical explanation. Out of all the females who’d gladly laid themselves bare for him, he’d chosen the cold-hearted bitch. It certainly wasn’t because she shows so much affection. Nesta was just as icy towards him as she was towards the rest of the world. Nevertheless, Cassian kept trailing after her, tending to her every wish and command. Macha thought it quite ridiculous and had lost any respect for her father long ago. He was nothing but a well-trained dog to Nesta, but he never seemed to realize that. No matter what she threw at him, Cassian always chose Nesta. He chose Nesta over her. Macha was aware that her father cared about her but never as much as he cared about her mother. There were numerous occasions Cassian had left her sitting alone in her room, a bedtime story unfinished just because her mother had called. She tried hard to understand him but wasn’t able to wrap her head around it. A better male would have left long ago. If not for himself then at least because of how Nesta was towards Macha. A father who really cared never would have allowed that. But still, Cassian chose Nesta. That’s what Macha just couldn’t forgive him. No matter how hard she tried to remind herself that he does love her, it would never be enough. He’d always love her more and gladly leave Macha to rot. Even now Cassian only had eyes for Nesta, barely acknowledging Macha’s presence at the table. 

She’d been glowering at her father for some time now, staring so intently that she hadn’t paid any attention to his moving lips. 

“Sweetie, did you hear what I just said?”, her father asked from the other end of the table finally turning his head away from Nesta to look at her. Macha just blinked. Rolling his eyes, Cassian repeated: “We’re going back to the Illyrian war camp tomorrow afternoon. Are you all packed?” A tiny nod of her had was all the answer Macha gave him. Truth be told, she was glad to be back in the mountains. With the Illyrians she at least didn’t have to pretend to be nice. They were all as grumpy and antisocial as she was. Whenever the hatred in her gut seemed to eat her alive, she could pick a fight and blow off some steam. There were no reprimands, while here, in Velaris, she got scolded for closing the window too hard. Yes, the Illyrian mountains are her true home. That her mother loathed that place made it even better.

“Uncle Rhys and Aunt Feyre send their regards. They told me to let you know that they are sorry they can’t say good-bye in person. But they’re busy.” 

A snort escaped Macha that had Nesta shooting her an evil look, while Cassian chose to ignore her reaction completely. Of course, they were busy. Macha knew exactly what kept them on their toes. Back in the day, visiting them had been a nice change of scenery and they genuinely seemed to worry about her well-being. Feyre and Rhysand had been the parents Macha wanted so badly. But ultimately, she was only a substitute until their own son was born, and Macha was left on the sidelines. Even though Divano was already twenty years old, everybody kept doting on him, treating him like the perfect little prince he was. Naturally, Macha couldn’t compare so she just accepted that once again, she was just not good enough. After a while, she stopped caring and let the fire inside her burn a little hotter with the thought of her “family”. Yes, she couldn’t wait to be back in the camp to beat the living shit out of the first guy who so much as breathed the wrong way. All that anger inside her was bottling up and bound to explode otherwise. Keeping her powers in check was hard enough as is, but when her emotions ran rampant, it was an agony to hold back.  
So, Macha took a deep breath, pushed back her chair and strode up the stairs to her room. Both her parents and Macha didn’t lose a word about the plants withering in her wake.


	8. Nemain

With each passing day, Nemain learned more about magic. After almost thirty years of combing through her late father’s library, she’d become one of the most powerful magic wielders to ever exist. If the King of Hybern had truly wanted to protect her, he should have given her access to those books. Now she was able to lay the whole world to ruin no matter who or what would step in her way. Instead of allowing her to be prepared and to live, he had locked Nemain in that disgusting little keep. Well, now he’s dead. Despite missing her father Nemain couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug about the fact that he who had been so condescending lost his final battle while she was still here and getting stronger each day. That smugness vanished, however, when she remembered that she was still stuck in that damn keep. Nemain had already unraveled many of her father’s spells and wards but there was one particular spell she couldn’t seem to break.

Dust flew from the cover when Nemain shut another book that had turned out to be less than helpful. In her annoyance, she was about to throw it out the window when she registered a gentle knock on her door. Composing herself, she put the book back on the crammed table, got up and straightened her skirts before grumbling “Enter!”.

A trembling fae maid stood in the door, holding another stack of books and a few scrolls. “Those are t-the last ones” the maid mumbled while trying hard not to look at her Queen. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “There are no more books to be found in the library. You’ve been through every piece of writing the King of Hybern had gathered. Your majesty.” The hasty courtesy the maid tried to execute almost ended in the stack of books landing on the floor. Nemain sighed and only pointed to the desk. “Leave the stuff there. And take away the stack that’s next to the bed. I can barely move in here.” 

With a “Yes. Of course. Immediately” the maid began gathering books into her arms. When she walked out the door she could barely see over the stack in her arms. Nemain slammed the door shut with a bang. She waited for another moment until the receding steps faded down the stairs. Only then did Nemain allow herself to take a shuddering breath. If those final scrolls and books didn’t offer the bit of information she needed, Nemain would remain trapped in the keep forevermore. It was almost too much to bear. The lace around her throat suddenly felt too tight and sweat pearls began to show at her brow. With wobbly knees she slowly stalked over to the desk, her hands clenched in fists at her side. After another breath Nemain flicked a finger and sent the mess on the desk skittering to the floor. She took the first book of the new pile and put it down on the empty and smooth wood. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep her hand from shaking when she opened it.


	9. Macha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Macha, Nesta, and Cassian are back in Illyria...

Being back in Illyria felt good. It’s not that anybody there was warm or welcoming towards her. They hated her family and her. At least they were awful to her face instead of going behind her back. Open hostility is something Macha could work with in contrast to that brooding resentment lingering between her mother, father and herself.

Macha even understood that the Illyrians didn’t like her.  
They had four good reasons for not doing so. 

First of all: her father.  
He may be the general of the High Lord’s army but that didn’t make anyone forget his ancestry.  
Cassian was a bastard, a fact nobody in the war camp would ever allow him to forget. If they didn’t acknowledge any of his accomplishments or the fact that he was far more powerful than any of them, why should they be friendlier towards his half-breed daughter? 

She wasn’t even a real Illyrian. Cassian’s blood was flowing through her, but obviously, her mother’s features ran stronger: Macha didn’t have wings. Thus, she often felt useless, but then she remembered that most of the Illyrian women couldn’t fly despite their wings. There was a long-standing tradition of misogyny among the warmongering people of Illyria. For as long as they existed, females have been kept down, had their wings clipped and remain shackled to home and hearth. 

Being a half-bred daughter of a bastard was enough to get you killed around the war camp.  
Setting aside the fact that Cassian was still the general and would slaughter every single person in the camp should anything happen to her, there was a very particular reason why the Illyrians kept their distance from her. 

Whatever powers her mother possessed, they were afraid of them.  
Whenever Devlon spotted Nesta, Macha witnessed him spitting on the floor and making a protective gesture with his hand. He’d referred to her as “witch” more than once, but Macha had never been able to find out what it was in particular that scared them.  
Nesta had never demonstrated any of her powers and refused to talk about them with Nemain, despite the fact that some of that power was also surging through her blood.

They couldn’t exactly see her as a threat as Nesta hardly left their house. His Illyrian heritage may be important to Cassian, but Nesta hated the place with every fiber of her body. She didn’t talk to people, didn’t partake in any of the training, didn’t help with any task usually bestowed upon the women. Nesta just barricaded herself in the sitting room and went through the stacks of books that would hopefully last until she got to leave again. 

Macha was different. Where Nesta loathed the war camp, Macha was determined to fully embrace it.  
She didn’t really care about her heritage or the Illyrian’s culture. In fact, she disagreed with a huge chunk of that. However, she was more than delighted to kick ass.  
Ever since she’d been old enough to hold a stick, Macha has trained hard in every form that didn’t involve flying. By now she was versed with swords, knives, bow and arrows as well as good old fist-fighting. 

Despite all the reasons the Illyrians had to resent her, to be afraid of her, they still showed Macha an ounce of respect for her determination and skill. Once they realized her talent for combat, they stopped trying to keep her from the more advanced training sites. The fact that she beat up the last Illyrian who tried to do that, might also have helped. 

 

When Cassian, Nesta, and Macha arrived in Illyria, Macha’s blood was still boiling. So, she just dropped her baggage in the house, threw on the Illyrian leather’s waiting in her cupboard and headed for the training pit without even unpacking. Of course, Nesta was pissed about that, but she was always pissed these days. Macha figured adding one more point to her mother’s mental list of reasons she hated her for didn’t matter too much. 

Macha stalked through the streets of the war camp, with a look on her face that made the smarter Illyrians keep well out of her way. 

 

Approaching the training ring, she grabbed the first male who breathed her way by the collar and dragged him along. The guy looked equally scared and annoyed but didn’t dare to back down. She may be the daughter of that witch but of course, he would be able to beat a female, right?  
The Illyrian, Kagiris, was a least a head taller than Macha and had probably a few hundred years’ worth of training on her. With a self-assured smirk, Kagiris stepped into the ring. Macha just grinned back and said: “Let the battle begin.”

The fight was over before it began. His arrogance was his downfall. Kagiris hadn’t been the first to underestimate Macha. With a few deft moves, she had him pinned to the ground in a matter of minutes.  
The Illyrian let out an exasperated snort as he tried to get back onto his feet.  
“Revanche!” he growled, and Macha was happy to oblige.  
This time he was better prepared, and the battle went on for a while. Kagiris even managed to knock Macha down with a blow to her stomach that had caught her off guard. As he bent down to give her some more, Macha drew her right leg in towards her body.  
Blinking in surprise, Kagiris was to slow to react when the sole of Macha’s boot connected with his nose. Following a satisfying crunch, blood sprayed from his nose and stars danced before his eyes. Kagiris hit the ground with a thud and didn’t get back up. 

Macha clapped herself on the shoulder and went to get herself some water. In those moments she was the most at peace with herself and the world.  
She felt invincible like nothing else mattered but that very fight and she had won.  
That’s when she knew that she wasn’t useless or stupid. She was worth more than any Illyrian and she’d prove it to them – and to herself – again and again each day, until either they or she would finally believe it.


	10. Nemain

The spell the final book contained was extremely complicated. Nemain ran through the instructions several times before daring to test it. 

She checked once more whether her door was securely locked as any interruption could be fatal. Taking one more deep breath, Nemain began the incantation that was artfully spread across two pages of the ancient tome before her. 

When she reached the third line, her knees began to shake. No, it wasn’t her knees but the ground that had begun to tremble. Not daring to take her eyes off the musty pages, Nemain forged on. After the seventh line, she noticed lightning crashing outside of her window form the corner of her eye. As she was nearing the end of the spell, the keep shook harder, dust and small bits of debris raining down on her. 

As the final word left her mouth, the whole world went silent. For a moment Nemain didn’t dare to breathe, to move, to even blink. Just when she was sure that she had failed again, she spotted a purple glow. She was by the window in a heartbeat, right in time to watch the purple glow slithering down the keep and into the grey soil of the small island. When the last spots of purple had vanished, Nemain gathered her black cloak and snuck out of her room on silent feet. She crept towards a servant’s exit, trying hard not seem suspicious. Despite the ruckus the spell had caused, the keep was largely deserted – precisely why she had executed the incantation in the middle of the night. She paused before the small wooden door at the end of the kitchen. A trembling hand found its way to the doorknob and slowly twisted the cold piece of metal. The door groaned as Nemain slowly pulled it open and cold air hit her face. 

So close. Just two more steps and she’d know whether she finally accomplished her mission or was doomed forever more. She tried it before. Every time she managed to unravel another spell, she tested what still remained of her father’s protective wards around the keep. Until now, she ran straight into some invisible boundary that sent her flying back on her behind. While one hand still clutched the doorknob, the other ghosted over the huge bruise on her tailbone from four nights ago. 

Steeling herself for this last shot at freedom she had left, Nemain stepped over the threshold half expecting to be thrown down again. Her foot hit the gravel outside the door. Nemain blinked. She took another step. And another. Nothing but open air around her. 

Tears started pooling in her eyes the new-found freedom making her dizzy. As a tear slipped down her cheek, Nemain sank to her knees and ran her hands over the dirty ground. 

Savouring the cool night air, Nemain slowly rose to her feet and turned back towards the door. She had done it. But that didn’t mean she could run off, right now. Pulling the door closed behind her, Nemain went through the next steps of her plan in her head. Trudging up the winding stairs towards her room, a grin ghosted her face. 

Nemain was ready to bring the world down.

 

 

During the centuries trapped in the keep, Nemain had concocted several plans for she’d do once she could leave. In terms of revenge, there were two ways. Claiming her crown immediately and rallying the troops of Hybern was the first route. However, convincing the people of Hybern would take time. More importantly: it would draw attention to her, alerting the rest of Prythian to what she was up to. 

Although marching with an entire army would have its merits, Nemain decided to go with route number two. That would entail an undercover mission. Amassing knowledge and skills over hundreds of years, Nemain had confidence in herself. A satchel with two sets of spare clothes and some other supplies was already packed in her room. Nemain would sneak her way into the rest of Prythian and make her way towards the Night Court. With the advantage of surprise on her side, it should be easy for her to execute vengeance. Her first step towards world domination.


End file.
